


Coming Into the Closet

by DemonicPiano



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: A LITTLE BUMP AND GRINDING NEVER HURT ANYBODY!, Alternate Universe - High School, Hetalia Countries Using Human Names, M/M, Spin the Bottle, Truth or Dare, Underage Drinking, gay pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-15 22:27:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29815302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DemonicPiano/pseuds/DemonicPiano
Summary: Alfred is the star of the senior class, golden boy, straight A's...blah, blah, blah, none of that matters! He just wants to smooch on the gremlin Arthur. During a friend's party, he gets to do that and a little more via Seven Minutes in Heaven.
Relationships: America/England (Hetalia)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 34





	Coming Into the Closet

As soon as the last bell of the day rings, Alfred is out the door. People would say he wanted a good seat on the bus, but he walks home. They know the real reason. Prized pupil, star high-school athlete, golden boy of the senior class and anything else sweet like melted candy under the summer sun hustles his way out of the school and into the front parking lot. Everyone from the science nerds to the football jocks to the swim team could gush about him; girls wanted to be with him and all the guys wanted to be him and sometimes the girls wanted to be him while some guys wanted to be with him. The one thing _—one thing!—_ that nobody could understand was why he was in such a rush to nearly run out those doors and across the parking lot for a punk on a motorbike.

Except Alfred doesn't make it close to the bike. He stops several feet away. Several uncomfortable feet away like a dude lurking on the sidelines of a dance floor, looking for pretty things to dance with. If only he was half as smooth. Jokes? He's full of them. Weird facts about whales? Sure thing! He could chat anybody up! He shows the ninth graders around the school so they wouldn't be late to their classes. He high-fives the seniors as they pass in the halls.

The one thing that is an arrow to his Achilles heel was a leather bound, messy-haired gremlin perched over a motorcycle. Looking into Arthur's eyes was like looking into Medusa's eyes, and that was a big nope and a half. Alfred hustles across the parking lot, stops just far enough so he wouldn't get run over by oncoming traffic, and turns heel and hustles away just as quickly before he could see Arthur pick up his head and look in his direction. They have hardly spoken with each other.

Hardly didn't mean never. They shared a few short-lived conversations. Once Alfred told him about the different life stages of mealworms in the third grade. Arthur gave him a disturbed look. In eighth grade, he asked him to the formal dance only to get, "I don't go to those things!" in return. A few weeks ago, he came across him in the back of the library, feet on the table between the bookshelves and one of the library ladies finishing up with a scolding. He didn't take his boots off the table.

Alfred settled at the other end and offered a pretty little, "Hi!"

Arthur grunted like a gorilla in return. They didn't say anything else for the rest of the period.

Now! Now he will say something. He isn't the same man as he was those three weeks ago! Today won't be like that, Alfred promised himself. He will try to talk to Arthur again. Yes, he will! He is going to walk to the bike and say something semi-intelligent and coherent.

Arthur leans against his bike, pulling a drag from a cigarette and puffs out a cloud. Not the most attractive stench, but Alfred is willing to plug his nose. Not now though. It won't look good. He gathers enough guts to cross the parking lot and not turn away at the last moment. He even stops a few feet away, closer than normal. Arthur doesn't look up from staring blankly at the asphalt.

"Hey. Um. Smoking's really bad for you!"

Infamous eyebrows raise, but Alfred's mouth keeps moving in a way he didn't plan for it to move, "I mean, I'm sure you know about all the health risks, but cigarettes are expensive! You can buy a lot of burgers instead!"

Arthur finally looked up, sucking another long drag with that _what the hell is wrong with you_ expression high-schoolers seemed to have down pat. Tipping his head back, he unleashes a plume of smoke before clicking his teeth. "What, and be a big mouth like you?"

Alfred immediately starts to make noises that were supposed to be words, but Arthur flicks the butt of his cigarette at his feet, making him squeak and jump like it would light his jeans on fire. This makes Arthur smile, "Why, thank you. I believe your intelligent comment just saved my life." He swings a long leg over his bike and it rips to life, jump-starting the last of Alfred's nerves. With a final smirk tossed over his shoulder, Arthur peels around Alfred and out of the parking lot. 

Alfred walks home that day with a smile on his face and the squeal of tires and engine's roar still ringing in his ears. He doesn't get much sleep that night, plotting on the next biggest thing he would say to Arthur. Maybe he'll talk about the clouds. Gremlins like clouds, right? Everybody likes clouds. He hopes.

They share one class together and it is Calculus. Arthur sits in the back against the wall, arms usually behind his head and not taking notes. At least the days he's there, he does that. Alfred glances toward his seat in case he came in first for once. Nope—Arthur's chair is empty.

"Your boyfriend's not here, Jones." His friend to his left mockingly seethes, "He's too busy skipping class."

"He's not my boyfriend."

One of the girls glances back from a desk diagonal from Alfred to tease, "Aw, you're blushing! It's so cute!"

"Come on, guys, quit it. It's embarrassing."

"Yeah, fellas," the teacher said. "Quit yammering and do your assignment."

They pipe down for two-point-seven seconds. 

"I'm having a little get-together tomorrow night. Just a head's up."

Alfred nods. His friends giggle. _Hee-hee-hee_. Yeah, it's funny how his brain decided to fixate on a gremlin like Arthur.

~.~

Blah, blah, blah, "Hi, honey," says Mom, "how was school?"

"It was all right. I'm going over Joey's house tomorrow, is that okay?"

"Is there going to be anyone else there?"

"Just a few friends?"

"Some girls?"

"Mom!"

Mrs. Jones giggles like her son isn't completely, anxiously, yet undoubtedly interested in something else. "Sure thing. You know the drill." _Text me when you get there. Don't stay out too late. Don't do drugs, but if you_ have to, _everything in moderation, for crying out loud._

Arthur's in class the next day. Alfred tries not to glance over too much. Until one of his friend's friends leans over and whispers to him. A rarity. Arthur cocks a brow and turns his face to the board. The other student shrugs and goes back to work. Beyond curious, Alfred finds himself staring, but he doesn't know the other guy well enough to ask what that was about after class. Arthur's head turns in his direction and Alfred quickly glances away—oh, what a nice wall—before their eyes could meet. He swore he hears that distinct accent whisper something, but the teacher hushes them.

Just a moment and there's more whispering.

"Kirkland," the teacher says. "Bad enough you're hardly here. The least you can do is be quiet."

"I am quiet."

"Quieter."

"Whatever."

Alfred sniffles to hide a snicker. _Again—really, brain? That one?_

The day finally ends and Alfred heads home to catch some grub before walking to his friend's house. There was no way he was missing his momma's lasagna. Besides, parties were better when he rolls in 15 minutes late instead of sitting there for two hours early waiting for everyone to trickle in. When he gets there, there's a little bit of a gathering, nothing crazy. At least 10 people are hanging out and some are already in a circle in the middle of the living room floor.

"Jones!" The host stands in the middle of it with his arms out. "Fashionably late as always."

"Hey, what's this _as always_ crap? What are we doing?"

"Gettin' drunk," one of the girls shook a bottle of some sort at him. "Want some?"

The host warns, "You better not leave that here for my mom to see."

"Ooh, we should play Truth or Dare!" Someone says.

"Or Twister!"

"What about Seven Minutes in Heaven?"

All the guys caterwaul as the girls start to giggle, and Alfred smiles uneasily as he wedges in the group. He's thinking of soda and politely turns down the offer in a Solo cup from beside him. Someone pulls an empty bottle from their face, finishes chugging the whole thing, screws on the cap and sets it in the middle with a smack of lips, "I want some _smooches!_ Pucker up, babes."

This spars various reactions of giggling, blanching and arm punches. 

"Ew! Gross, man! Your slobber's all over the bottle and everything!"

The host tosses the soda bottle in the trash and sets down an empty, labeless bottle.

"Ooh, it's glass," someone says. "That's fancy."

"I came prepared! Well, it's my house, but...I'll go first!" He yells, "Hey! Everybody that wants to spin the bottle get over here!"

Alfred's eyes flicker around. Some of his classmates are cute, but sitting there waiting to be smooched and watching everyone else smooch doesn't sound as fun as playing _Just Dance_ or _Mario Kart._ He's about to ask if they should get lost in the woods in the dark instead, but someone else has a quicker idea, "What about Truth or Dare?"

This catches some grins. The host shrugs, "All right. We'll spin, and whoever it lands on has to be asked 'Truth or Dare.'"

The group nods. "Sounds good."

The host spins, and lands on a lady on the other side of Alfred's left. "Truth...or do you _dare to dare?"_

"Oh, I dare to dare, all right."

"Ha!" The host claps once then points, "I dare you to order a pizza!"

Someone pipes up, "Two pizzas!"

"Two pizzas! With pepperoni!"

"What? Ugh! You're so lame!" She peels from the circle as it fills with caterwauls and steps into the next room with a last, "I'm getting pineapple on it-"

That someone runs after her.

The next person gives a spin, and it lands on a guy across the way. "Truth or dare!"

"Truth! I'm not making any phone calls."

"Okay! Is it the truth...that you ate deodorant in ninth grade?"

"Ugh! That was one time!" The others start snickering. He gets louder, "I thought it was donut icing! It was just smeared on my phone, I just-"

"You thought it was-" The spinner falls over in silent laughter.

"So you ate it anyway?!"

"Donut icing, bro! Who wouldn't eat it?!"

The circle is alive with laughter. Someone mimics applying deodorant before taking a bite out of it. Someone else falls over. Deodorant-taste-tester rolls his eyes and tosses his hands. "Whatever, dude! It wasn't even seven in the morning! I wasn't fully awake yet."

The third person goes. Alfred watches the bottle until it stops, blinking in shock when it points to him. A few more giggles. Anticipation. He looks at the spinner in question and recognizes that they share Calculus together. His neighbor's neighbor leans over to whisper in his ear, so he yells, "Hey! Don't be giving him any bad ideas!"

The dude grins and gives a nod. "I dare you to spin this bottle and go into a closet for seven minutes with whoever it lands on."

Then comes a chorus of _ooh's!_

Alfred protests, "I told you no bad ideas!"

The _ooh's_ turn into _boo's._

"That's just Seven Minutes in Heaven!" Why couldn't he get a cool dare, like run out in the middle of the road and do a little dance? Granted, the road was a private back road so little to no cars would be coming down, but still.

Someone cups their hands around their mouth and bellows, "Jones is afraid of a little smoochy-smoochy!"

The group starts cackling. The two guys against both of Alfred's sides take turns jostling him. "All right, all right!" He snatches the bottle. They said go in a closet. They didn't have to do anything. He shrugs off his friends still _ooh_ -ing and gives the bottle a spin. Besides, it was only seven minutes. Surely seven minutes in a closet would go by much quicker than they do in English class, right? The bottle stops. It points toward a space between two guys. They lean away. Alfred lets out an internal sigh of relief. "Oops, looks like it didn't choose..." In the doorway in the line of the bottle's point, stands Arthur with a drink in hand, leaning against the doorframe and watching a gaggle of highschoolers be stupid while he steals gulps. "...anybody."

Oh no.

Alfred wishes to jump out of a window. He didn't even know Kirkland was there. He didn't even know Kirkland knew anyone there. Why was he there in the first place? Just standing there and staring? Who does that?

The spinner grins, but Arthur says, "I'm only here for the mediocre alcohol."

Oh. Alfred guesses that answers his question.

"Leave it to Kirkland to be a poor-sport," the host sings, prompting another wave of boos in the paltry crowd. Arthur doesn't seem amused. "Get your ass over here and play or quit sucking down my bro's stash."

"Yeah, you gonna stand there all night?"

"You afraid of a little kissy-kissy?" Some of the kids start taunting. One playfully shoulders Alfred. He doesn't say anything, torn between peeking at Arthur and staring at the carpet.

"Fuck off," Arthur says. "Your games are lame."

"Pfft, yeah, of course you'd say that." The host gets up to wrestle the bottle from Arthur, "Be cool. Be cool for once or begone, you foul beast!"

Arthur tips the rest of it back before shoving it against the host's chest and storms around the circle, "I'll show you _beast._ Let's go, Jones."

Arthur's out of the room and it's silent...for all of two seconds before the group starts wigging out, shaking their hands, shoving Alfred, telling him to scram, go, get after him. Alfred's lame, "Wait, what, why?!" is drowned by his friends grabbing his arms and peeling him from the floor before shoving his back. He stumbles forward, tosses a desperate look over his shoulder and everyone is either staring and grinning him down, or making sweeping-hand movements. He skitters out of the room, face completely aflame now as his heart pounds against his ears.

What the heck just happened within the span of two seconds?

There's the eating area and then a small hall from the living room, and Arthur's propped against the wall, eying his nails as Alfred takes approximately one step and stops like, ten feet from him. His friends said go in a closet. They don't have to do anything....right?

Arthur plants a palm against a particular door, finally catches Alfred's eye, and crooks with a finger before slipping inside.

Maybe Alfred could turn around and sneak out the front door. He wonders how long it would be until his friends start to worry about him, but he knows it wouldn't be long, and what if he got caught in the middle of the escape?! He'd never live it down being the man that chickened out of Seven Minutes in Heaven with the school punk. He hunches his shoulders, slaps his warm cheeks, and marches down the hall.

It should be a normal thing to walk down a hall, push open a door, step inside and quietly close it behind himself, but Alfred trembles each step of the way. It's just a closet. It's not like he's stepping into a pit of vipers. It's just Arthur, not anyone else that was studded all to Hell and brazenly showed off some skin with ripped jeans that were not allowed in the dress code and burned rubber in the parking lot...

Oh no.

Something in the hall grinds against the floor, making him jump. There's titters outside the door and shadows moving. Alfred gawks without moving a muscle. His friends are listening in?! Something props against the door, rattling the knob and then the footsteps thump away, taking the giggles and snorts with them. Closets lock from the inside, but that doesn't mean his buddies were against barricading. They are not against making sure he stayed in here for seven full minutes.

Alfred slowly turns around. The closet is pitch dark. There's only a strip of light coming through the door and it does not help at all. He doesn't know how big the closet is, where anything is to trip over, where Arthur is...

"I'm over here," Arthur's gruff voice makes him jump again. Jeez, he's jumpy that night. Well, dark closets do that to people. 

"I'm looking for a light."

"What do you need a light for?"

"To see?"

"You don't need to see. Get over here."

This is awful already. All those nerves crumble into a ball and sink in Alfred's tummy. At least it's only for seven minutes. He could sit still for seven minutes, contrary to popular belief. It'll be all over and he could go back and hopefully the pizza will be there at that time. He reaches his arms from his sides, meeting the soft material of what had to be coats, and pats around until he gets a rough size of the space. He takes a tentative step, groping in front of him, and gasps as something seizes his wrist and yanks him forward. He collides into something solid and there's clammy hands grabbing at him, his chest, his shoulders, before clamping against the back of his neck and—there's a face pressing against his.

Arthur is kissing him. Arthur kissed him first, and Alfred didn't have to do anything. Wow. Alfred's eyes flutter and close uselessly against the darkness of the closet. Warm. Damp. Alcohol burns on his breath. Alfred tries to ignore that. His hands hang limp at his sides as Arthur's lips move against his own like they know what they're doing. Maybe they _do_ know what they're doing. He captures Alfred's lower lip between both of his own, sucking eagerly. Alfred gasps, and the tingles are back full force just as a tongue slips inside his mouth.

Definitely... _definitely_ knows what he's doing. Alfred makes a weird, intrigued little sound against Arthur, stumbling forward and it takes them against a wall. Arthur grunts, not even pulling away for a second as he grasps Alfred's hoodie and spins them around so Alfred is pinned to the wall. It's so much. He melts against Arthur's breath filling his lungs. It's dark. There's nothing but Arthur and him, lips crushing against one another, hands jumping to grope and grab and feel what they can in what little time they have. Oh, Arthur in that leather jacket-

It only takes a fraction of a thought to bring Alfred back to where they are. His friend's closet. He definitely doesn't want Arthur to stop— _whoa,_ a hand runs over the back of his jeans and gives a hard squeeze before sliding back up—but they barely ever said full sentences to each other.

"Are you sure?" Alfred breathlessly manages. Arthur kisses him again. "I mean-" _Smooch._ "You don't even-" _Smooch!_ "You don't even know me, and-"

"Shut up, Jones," Arthur pants against his mouth, "You don't—mm—don't you think I don't notice, ah, you staring all the time?" He pulls his face away and Alfred's mind spins as he tries to remember how to breathe. There's a tug on his hoodie, and the unmistakable sound of a zipper comes down. Rough hands plaster themselves against the thin fabric of his shirt, "I saw you walk into someone's car door because you were too busy gawking."

Alfred almost leaps against him without his brain telling him anything. His hands fly up, knuckles cracking against the wall as Arthur's hands generously palm his chest. His mouth moves, bobbing up and down but nothing much comes out, "A-Ar...Arthur..."

Arthur leans in again, body burning and breath hot in his ear, "Isn't this what you want? You want this, yeah? You're just letting me do all of this"—fingers pinch Alfred through his shirt and he uncontrollably bucks his hips against Arthur's—"and letting it happen like a good little boy. Honor student. Star athlete on the field. Yet you're moaning like you're half-starved at the slightest touch?"

Oh, come on, Arthur, it wasn't the slightest touch, now was it-

"You don't want to be running with my kind of crowd, do you, Jones? What could a no-good punk like me do for you?" Arthur's hand tweaked, twisting hard. Alfred's head falls against the wall as he opens his mouth in a scream that never came, swallowed up and overwhelmed by the fire tearing through his meager threads of sanity.

Alfred moves without permission from his brain, but it's so good, so hot as he grinds himself into Arthur's groin, panting as he needs it more, needs it harder. It elicits a deep groan from Arthur, and his hands release Alfred's nipples to clamp over his asscheeks, digging his nails into his jeans. Fuck yes, he wants it—Arthur wants it, too!

"You can have anyone...in the school...falling over your feet, a-and yet..."

"Stop talking!" Alfred squeaks out as they grind each other through their clothes. Arthur is just as hard as he was; Alfred felt it, he needed it. "Stop talking..."

"Ha..." Arthur drags his lips down Alfred's neck before he sinks his teeth into his skin, giving a hard thrust upwards that sends Alfred scrabbling against him, desperate to stay upright, to keep going. Why did they wait, why didn't they do this earlier, they could have fucked on Arthur's bike or something-

He can't...he needs—Alfred pins himself as much as he can against Arthur, arching desperately, nails scratching at leather, nails scratching at denim-

Alfred cries loud into the dark closet space. He's so hot, warmth pools in his pants, he has it...he's done and it's amazing, nothing is better, nothing beats this. Arthur smacks a palm to the wall as he growls out a long, "Fuuuuck."

"Yeah, yeah," Alfred weakly cheeps and nods for the thought of Arthur finishing against him. He slips, legs weak as they tremble for much better reasons, and Arthur comes down with him. They sink to the floor, going limp and breathing hard against one another. "Wow," Alfred manages with a dopey smile. He doesn't bother thinking of saying anything else. He's eloquent.

Arthur picks up his head from Alfred's shoulder, nudging the side of his face with his nose before planting his lips on him. Just for a second, they wearily moan against each other's lips before Arthur pulls away with a hard sigh, "Fuck, you're adorable."

Alfred blinks against the darkness. His cheeks feel permanently hot. He only manages a lame, "Um, what?"

Just a short, breathless chuckle and Arthur's kissing him again, surprisingly sweet after...all of that. A scrape echoes across the floor boards. Alfred thrashes against the wall when there's a knock on the door. Snickering. Arthur grumbles and shifts away, and Alfred clasps his hands over his own groin. Oh no. Oh, jeez. They...closet...in the middle of a friend's house...

Alfred needs to melt, for an entirely different, more humiliating reason.

"You gonna get up?" Arthur asks. "Your little friends are waiting for us."

"Maybe?" There's another knock on the door. Alfred leans against the wall to scramble to his feet. His legs feel wobbly and well, he's still riding the clouds and the thought of Arthur-

Another kiss, just the slightest touch. Arthur whispers, heavy and low against the darkness, "You better be careful, Jones. I eat boys like you up for breakfast."

The door opens, spilling light into their moment and personal space. Alfred isn't sure who opened the door, but there stands the whole squad, weaving side-to-side and beep-bopping as their smiles and eyes go wide when the pair shuffles out of the closet. Arthur pushes his way through the crowd and he's gone. Alfred only meets a few of his friends' eyes before chickening out and squeaking, "So...how about that pizza?"


End file.
